Blootlejuice
by McGeesJabberwock
Summary: Oneshot. Parody of Beetlejuice. When two ghosts named Marge and Homer want to rid their house of the Griffins, Blootlejuice offers a helping hand. Rated for some bad language.


"We're here!" 

Peter Griffin pressed his foot down on the brake and took a moment to observe the new house he had bought. 742 Evergreen Terrace.

"Woah. This place sure looks bigger than the dump we lived in back in Quahog. And can you believe how cheap we got it?"

Brian lifted himself from his seat and peered over Peter's shoulder. "I hear the house is cheap because it's supposed to be haunted!"

"Heh, heh. Who'd believe something like that, I tell ya. It's even more cock and bull than what that teenager told me..." Peter reminsced back to when he had paid a visit to the junkyard, and had met a rather unsavorary youth.

_"There's candy in that trash compacter? Alright!" With that, he dived in and screamed in agony while he heard the faint sound of immature laughter._

"Dad!" said Meg from the back seat, "You do remember that time you disturbed the bones of the dead and we got haunted?"

"Ah, Meg, nobody likes a nitpicker!"

Unknown to the Griffins, the house was haunted, by the spirits of the house's previous owners, Marge and Homer Simpson, who hovered behind the banister as their 'guests' began unpacking.

"_Oh_," said Marge, "Just when I get used to being one of the living dead, some hick family moves in! This wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you!" An accusing finger pointed itself at Homer. "I told you not to drive drunk, but no!"

"In my defense, Marge, I was too drunk to listen! And what could be so bad about having new roomies?"

As Homer spoke, his moustachied neighbour, Ned Flanders, came to the door. "Hi-diddly-ho, neighborinos!"

"Buzz off," said Peter.

"Okily dokily!"

Homer couldn't stop laughing. "Hey Marge, did you see the way Flanders just got owned there? See, having them isn't going to be so bad!"

"Well, I guess we should give them a chance. It's common hospitality!"

* * *

Two weeks later, Marge had to cover her ears with a pillow.

"I knew I wasn't going to like having them around! That fat guy's laugh is so annoying, and I doubt any of the things he talked about really happened! And I don't know what's with that baby!"

"Fine, Marge! We'll haunt them back to the Stone Age!"

"Are you sure we can do it?"

"Leave things to Homer, the Head Honcho of Haunting!"

* * *

Later, Peter had made his way to the fridge for his daily six-pack. "What's with the beer this town sells?" he asked himself, "I mean, 'Duff'? Sounds like some sort of German guy. Ah, well, as long as it has alcohol..."

The minute Peter lay his chubby fingers on the six-pack, Homer materialised and grabbed the beers straight from Peter's hand. "Whooo! I am the ghost of this house and all beer is mine!"

"Give that back, you bastard!"

"Never! Whoo-OW!" Peter kicked Homer right in the shin to retrieve his precious alcohol. Homer lay on the floor, holding his ankle, saying "Sssss...aah!"

"And don't go stealing my schtick either!" Peter whacked Homer over the face with a chair.

Just as Chris, Peter's teenage son, had miraculously tucked himself into bed, he awoke with the sound of a creaking cupboard door. Turning around, the sight of the evil monkey turned his blood to ice, as it had always done.

"Fat kid! Faaat kid!" At that moment Homer floated in, decked in chains. "I am the ghost of - AAGH! EVIL MONKEY!" Homer dropped his chains as he floated away screaming. The evil monkey shrugged and closed the cupboard doors.

* * *

"It's no use, Marge," said Homer after he quit haunting, "These guys are unhauntable. And I can't understand a word the baby says!"

"Well, I guess we'll just have to get used to them, although that woman's voice is much too high-pitched..."

Meanwhile, on a secret moon base, another ghost overheard Homer and Marge's calls using his advanced ghost technology.

"So, these losers need a haunting, do they?"

"...and that dog is such a smartass!" The minute Marge finished her ranting, a flash of lightning appeared and a small blue blob wearing a black and white striped suit appeared. "And just who are you?"

"Glad you asked, here's my card!" A card landed in Marge's ghostly palm, reading _**'BLOOTLEJUICE, BIO-EXORCIST**_'. "Now, it seems to me you want to get rid of those schlomos who have taken over your house, but lack the haunting OOMPH to do it!"

"Hey!"

"Well, I'll be glad to help. Just as soon as you pay me ten million bucks!"

"Forget it! I mean, _hello_, I'm _dead_! Where do I get the money, _the Ghost Bank?_"

Later, at the Ghost Bank...

"I would like to take out a loan for ten million dollars. Thank you."

The next evening, the Griffin family had gathered around for their nightly exposure of the boob tube. "Next up, Saved by the Bell!" The Griffins thought they were about to see the exploits of Belly, the heroic bell who saves millions, when instead the television sprouted fangs and had begun drooling. As Peter was about to adjust the set, the couch sprung to life and sprouted myriad wiggling tentacles that had begun to strangle Chris.

"Ah yes," said Stewie, the baby, to himself, "As soon as it has its way with the chubby one, I will discover its secret and form an entire army..." His scheming suddenly cut itself short when Lois grabbed both him and Chris, and the entire family ran for the door. Homer and Marge watched from the ceiling, the former giggling his head off. When the Griffins reached the foyer, Blootlejuice rose from the floor, with a miniature carousel wildly spinning on top of his head.

"How do you guys like my new hat, eh? Made it myself!" Surprised and scared shitless, Peter reached for the doorknob, and suddenly felt hard rubber whack against his face. He looked up and saw another strange creature: a elongated red imaginary friend wearing black leather, who only had one arm, which had a basketball instead of a hand.

"Hi! How you doing!"

Blootlejuice laughed maniacally. "Meet my lovely assisstant, WILT BASKETBALLHAND! Long story, creator never finished him, yadda yadda yadda."

"That poor guy," said Marge to Homer.

"Meh. What ya gonna do?"

At this point, the Griffin family had been freaked out by Blootlejuice's pranks and wondering who the hell would think a basketball would make a good substitute for a hand, so they darted out the front door, all except for Meg, who Wilt had captured.

"Not so fast!" smirked Blootlejuice, "I'm going to make you my bride and take you back to the Neitherworld, to show all ladies love the Blooster!"

Meg's initial fear had turned to delight. "Someone finally taking interest in me? I can't believe it!" So, Blootlejuice, Meg and Wilt floated upstairs to begin the wedding.

A titter escaped Marge's spectral throat. "I haven't enjoyed myself this much since my last county fair! And it's nice to see two young people in love!"

"And we can be alone to do what we enjoy," said Homer suggestively, punctuating his sentence with a laugh, "Let's play Ghost Scrabble!"

Just then, Peter returned, this time with an old friend of his, Death.

"Hey, I'm missing 'A Current Affair', you know!"

"I don't care! You're the Grim Reaper, get reaping!"

"This is gonna cost you..." Death swung his scythe, thus sentencing Homer and Marge to the afterlife. When that was done, he walked upstairs, seeing Meg in a bridal dress, standing next to Blootlejuice happily. Wilt played the minister, a book taped to his basketball hand.

"Aw, were you invited?" said Blootlejuice, turning to Death, "Well. you're not having any of the cake!"

Death lowered his shoulders and sighed. He swung his axe, but Blootlejuice used his powers to stop it, so Death kicked him in the shin. Blootlejuice moaned "Sss...oow," and Peter felt utter disgust from seeing his schtick mangled again. With the throw of a chair, Peter knocked Blootlejuice unconscious, allowing Death to reap his prey.

"Dad! Why do you have to always ruin my love life?"

"Relax! You've still got basketball boy over there, why not go out with him?"

"Dad, he has no real hands! How is he supposed to..." Wilt gave Meg a peck on the cheek. "Though I guess I could give it a try..."

So, the next evening, Meg and Wilt went to the movies, where anyone who said "Down in front!" got a face full of basketball.

"Ah, you're not like other guys..."

THE END


End file.
